Tag Archives: Prague

Home is where you drink your beer

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Sitting in Crazy Daisy tonight (It’s 4:30 and dark outside), I’m doing my best to not feel guilty about taking up a table while they’re busy. The waitresses and bartenders here are definitely prettier than the guys over at Roma, but they have mastered the apathetic surliness that is the curse of help staff everywhere. I count it as a small victory that I won a smile out of my waitress tonight.

At the row of tables down the middle of the restaurant a large party is gathering, and in their number is the Anti-Jerry. I spotted him right away. He glanced my direction but did not understand what we each represented, because as the Anti-Jerry he is ignorant of the deeper meanings of things. Clean-cut with a hint of the rascal, wearing a suit with style, polite and attentive, confident and easy-going. They made space for him in the middle of the table. The woman on his left is making no secrets about who she wants to be with tonight. The Anti-Jerry.

Still, it’s good to meet your anti-you every once in a while. It’s like looking in a reverse mirror. When I see the Anti-Jerry I see all the things I’m not that I wish I was, but I also see the things he’s not, that I’m glad I am. And if the waitresses don’t smile at him either, well then. I’ll just wait to meet the anti-waitress.

Just now the sound of glass shattering came from behind the bar, and I thought of Rose.

Thanks!

Company’s Coming!

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On the to-do list, just under “finish novel” and “learn czech” I have added “find own place”. Two reasons for that: first, the people who own this place are going to want it back soon, and second, I just heard from friends who want to come and visit in February. That’s soon! I really should have a place by then (see reason 1), but now I have to have furniture in it and everything.

On top of everything, the exchange rate just keeps getting worse. I regularly pay a dollar for a beer in restaurants now. The horror! I’m starting to adopt the R’n’R (Rice and Ramen) diet. I’m not broke or anything, and I want to keep it that way. Gotta watch the burn rate so I can be a foolish spendthrift when guests are here.

As far as that goes, if you’re reading this, you are invited to swing by Prague and crash at my place. (You may want to wait until I have a place, but that’s just details.) When I look at places I will definitely be finding a place with room for guests. Maybe not very much room, but I promise you’ll be able to lie flat while sleeping.

Speaking of finishing the novel, The Monster Within is almost done. That’s a big part of why you haven’t heard much of substance from me lately.

And speaking of not much substance, that’s about all you get from me today as well. That’s the way it goes, sometimes.

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Thanks!

A Very Merry Christmas, Indeed!

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While all you across the big pond yet entertain cavorting sugar plums, here in Old Europe the day is under way (I hear my two Japanese readers scoff). I woke earlyish this morning, and actually felt a little of the season creeping into my curmudgeonly old soul. On a whim I pulled out a CD that I’ve been dragging around with me, wondering why the whole time. It’s called Tierra Santa. Tierra Santa is a suburb of San Diego, and this is a collection of original Christmas music by San Diego musicians. Many of those singer/songwriters have gone on to vanish into obscurity, but a few of them are plugging away ten years later. I haven’t listened to this CD in years, but for some reason it was in my CD case when I hit the road, and here it is. This morning it’s justifying itself.

Most years Christmas is just like any other day for me, but not this year. Last night Marek (an aspiring photographer and bartender at Roma) gave me a really nice card featuring one of his prints. It’s beautiful. And later today, I will be published.

Now, before you get too excited, this is a fairly small deal. It’s a little online publication, but it has actual Editors and standards and stuff, so it is a little bit of a big deal. Most of you that read this will already be familiar with The Cowboy God. Today readers of The Piker Press (www.pikerpress.com/) will see a slightly edited version.

No white Christmas here in Prague, but that’s OK. It’s snowing somewhere. And my sincere thanks go out to all of you who have wished me well. I hope the season finds you happy and prosperous, and closer to your dreams. And when I say I’m a writer and people ask, “Have you published anything?” I can answer “yes”. I guess it is a big deal.

Thanks!

A Small Tour of Prague

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As I mentioned yesterday, I took advantage of the sun and took some pictures from around the neighborhood. As I write this now, a few stray flakes of snow are hesitantly drifting down outside my window. I’m glad I took the opportunity while I had it.

cemetary

This picture is from a couple of weeks ago, actually. I didn’t go to the cemetery yesterday, but it is one of the cool places near home.

low sun at noon

The sun is low in the sky, even at noon. I think most of the traffic on side roads is people looking for a place to park.

cars and construction

A crowded street, looking down to an interesting old building. There’s a river down there somewhere. I should go look at it sometime.

No excuse for being late to a service at this church. Hey God, what time is it?

telecom tower

One thing about living near this beast: No matter where I am in the city, I know the direction home. But, wait a minute… What are those things crawling on it? Could they be… nah, that would be crazy. They couldn’t possibly be…

GIG

Giant Iron Babies!!!!

As I mentioned above, there are a few more pictures over in the photo gallery, including more Giant Iron Babies and more from the cemetery. Take a look!

Thanks!

Winter Sun

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I was cold when I woke up this morning, even though the window was closed. I looked out over the rooftops and saw a sky of brittle blue. Steam was gushing from the chimneys and hanging in the still air, dissipating reluctantly. It looked cold. I’ve come to appreciate the sun, however. I haven’t seen a whole lot of it lately. I bundled up and headed out with three goals: Palacinky, baterie, and pictures. I succeeded at all those things.

First, the batteries. I figured the drug store at the corner would carry a double-A cell or two, so I popped in there. A note on the layout of Czech stores: they love bottlenecks. If you’re not caught in a traffic jam while entering a store of any size you’re dealing with amateurs. Droxi is as professional as it gets. As soon as I was caught in this shuffling mass of tiny shopping carts driven by people who I am convinced were not there to shop at all (the carts were empty and the drivers stood staring at shelves, not moving), I forgot how to say “excuse me” in Czech. The phrase just flew right out of my head, leaving me to bull my way gently through the narrow aisles filled with people smiling blankly at toothpaste.

There were no batteries that I could find in the store. I did need shampoo, however, so the adventure was not a total waste. I escaped to the cold hard air outside and moved in the direction of Namesti Miru. On the way I passed an electronic gadget store. I popped in and sure enough they had batteries. I asked for four of them. He went to the rack and discovered that they came only in packs of six. He began to tear into the pack. He can’t do that! My neurotic American mind said. I went so far as to stop him and buy six batteries rather than four. Am I a tool or what? I stopped him from accommodating my wishes because I didn’t want him to violate the wishes of the manufacturer! I’d like to think I was just saving him the trouble, but fundamentally that wasn’t it. To me a “buy-four-get-two-free” pack was fundamentally different than a “price reduced 33%” pack. Not so this merchant, and more power to him.

Wiser and encumbered by two extra AA batteries, I made my way on toward a late breakfast. There’s a little place in a perfect location, a fast-food joint czech style set at a major tram connection and above a metro stop. Across the tram tracks is an old church. For people watching, there is no better place. For sitting and writing, there would be no better place except for one thing: They are always busy. When you sit at a table, expect to share. I would feel guilty settling in for the afternoon at a place like that. Still, for a buck and a half I get my fill of Palačinky and a čaj čern

Thanks!

Smackin the Cue Ball

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It starts when they rack the balls. They put the eight ball on the dot rather than the one ball. Sinking a ball on the break should be automatic. They do deal with scratches in bar pool more harshly than the Americans do, which I like. And there is more strategy with the 8-ball, except you don’t lose if you scratch while playing it. So it’s not all bad. But here’s the worst part: When you play pool in Europe, lucky shots count. This means that hitting the ball really hard is rewarded. Nobody plays with any touch at all. Even big slice shots they hit as hard as they can, and there’s no thought to where the cue ball might end up.

I was watching people play tonight and I put it to myself like this: in the US, you must predict the action of your shot. You can get lucky, but only if your stated goal is also met.

It’s a shame Americans think that way only while playing pool.

Thanks!

Dateline: Prague, 6 a.m.

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I spent the afternoon writing at Crazy Daisy yesterday, sipping cool Gambrinus and trying to reconcile what I thought I ordered with what they brought me. I’ve never had deep-fried turkey before, but it was pretty good. A woman who acted like she owned the place (could she be Crazy Daisy herself?) parked in the middle of the road outside and unloaded supplies, then left her car sitting there while she sat for an hour and had a couple of cigarettes and talked to the bartenders. She just left her car there, right in the middle of the road.

There are more cars in this town than there are places to put them. Before Marianna left her folks took us out to dinner, and we cruised for some time looking for a place to park, all the while listening to Jiri say that there were too many cars and that there should be a massive automobile tax to discourage any more cars from coming in to the city. An interesting idea to discuss while in a car looking for a relatively less illegal place to park. In many areas you see signs instructing drivers to park on the sidewalks.

In a few more years there will be more parking places, I’m sure, as demand increases even further. If I were king of Prague I would prevent that from happening. Lack of parking is the only thing that stands between Prague and gridlock. (Luckily for all concerned, I am not King of Prague.)

Prague Rain, 5:30 am Well, after čty?i piva (four beers) at the bar I dropped by the pivo store and picked up je

Thanks!

Czech Tipping

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In Prague, when I tip as much as I do in the US, I am met with looks of stunned amazement. Then they figure I’ve just had too many beers and didn’t know how much money I was giving them.

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Thanks!

Bella Roma

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I’ve gotten some good stuff done there lately. There’s still some stuff to work out in The Monster Within, but I made some serious progress tonight. There was a pacing issue at the end where it when bang-bang! and now it goes bang, rest, rest, blammo!

That’s the idea, anyway. I still have to finish writing it.

There is a Gambrinus shortage here. At the grocery store yesterday, no Gambrinus. That’s OK, there are plenty of other beers and I like to experiment. There’s one beer that’s not so great, but it’s not bad, and a half-liter bottle costs twenty-five friggin’ cents. I got one of those and a few others that cost marginally more, splurging for the Budvar.

Tonight on the way home from Roma I stopped at the little beer store on the corner (New beer run – start with no pants and no shoes. Put on shoes (pants optional), grab two empties and head out. Throw both bolts on the flat door. Elevator optional on the way down. Unlock and relock both doors in front. Sprint to the beer store on the corner. Trade in the two empty bottles and twenty-nine crowns for two full Gambrinuses. Yeah, that’s pricy compared to the grocery store two blocks away but this is a beer run. Return home, negotiating all four locks. No elevator on the way back up. Timer stops when one beer is in the fridge and the other in the freezer for rapid cooling.) and they were out of Gambrinus as well. Choices were limited, so I scooped up a pair of Pilsner Urquell. In general at the store there’s either a kind of grumpy guy (he may not be grumpy at all, he might be telling me all kinds of funny stuff in his gruff voice for all I know) or there’s a woman who calls to another woman in the back for everything she does. Tonight I got some kid. He asked me “blah, bllah blah?” which I think is “Are you returning any bottles?” because the only time they don’t ask me anything is when I return bottles, I made a sweeping negative gesture, he nodded and punched 27 into the register. 27 isn’t a bad price for tow of these beers, considering it’s not the grocery store. Then he hit the button again and I was staring a 54. Two bucks. For two beers. Granted, they were good beers, and large, but I’ve gotten used to paying a lot less, and I’m not going back baby, not in this country. Still, I bought the beers. But just for tonight.

Today must have been some sort of special Sunday. Start of Advent? I thought that should have already happened. On my way home from the bar I met a group of happy kids, dressed like angels and stuff, lighting off really big firecrackers. I had heard distant reports, and then when I was walking past the group I saw that several of them had fingers in their ears. Suddenly, KAPOW! The little bomb went off even as the kids were lighting the next one. Oh, I miss those days. Wher I got to the building there was a van parked on the sidewalk outside, and they were unloading christmas decorations. Apparently we get the christmas cheer here as of tonight.

Working back in time, I observed tonight that when frost and fashion collide, fashion wins. A couple came into the bar while I was writing. The guy looked like he had just come off the windswept tundra; he was wearing an enormous parka with a hood. He was with a tall blonde wearing her kicky little leather jacket over tight-fitting jeans, with a little midriff exposed when she held herself just right, which she did most of the time. I’m not sure they were actually a couple, because while he went to the back part of the restaurant she hung out at the bar, preventing me from writing for quite a while. But my point still stands.

So, uh, happy advent or whatever. Any excuse to blow things up!

Thanks!

Alone for the Holidays

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One time, maybe a year ago, I was walking in Mira Mesa and I was at an intersection with a couple of bicyclists. They were wearing white short-sleeved shirts and dark, narrow ties over dark slacks. “How you doing today?” one of them asked me.

Just because they’re recruiters for some organization I have no interest in doesn’t mean I should be impolite. “Not bad,” I said, which was close enough to the truth. “How are you guys?” Well, of course they probably get treated pretty rudely much of the time, so the moment I didn’t shut the metaphorical door in their face they launched into their pitch. We’ve all heard the pitch, and generally we all deal with it by ignoring it. I was nodding politely when one of them said something like, “If you accept Jesus into your life you will never be alone again.”

I couldn’t conceal my reaction. “That sounds horrible,” I said with a visible shudder. I don’t think I offended them, at least they probably weren’t offended until later when they had time to think about it, but the one-sided conversation came to a crashing halt. No one had expected that reaction, least of all me, and the sincerity of my sentiment was beyond question. I wasn’t trying to put them off; I was truly horrified at the thought of never being alone.

Holidays act as an aloneness amplifier. Sure, I like being around family for the holidays, but as far as solitude bang for buck goes, you can’t beat Thanksgiving and Christmas. You are aloner on those days than on any others.

I went out walking today, in the sharp cold sunshine. I thought of buying a scarf, it was a good day for one, but much like my days on the road there are times when motion will not yield to practicality or need. Where I went was unimportant. My intention was to find a nice spot to grab a meal, but nothing appealed. Well, that’s not true, many places looked interesting, and tasty, and warm, and friendly, but I found a reason to pass each one by. On my return I went to the store and bought some supplies to construct a modest Thanksgiving meal here in the apartment. Spaghetti. I also bought some cold cuts that might be turkey, but I haven’t tried them yet.

Technically, it’s not Thanksgiving here anymore, but It’s still Thanksgiving over there, and it’s an over there holiday. So happy Thanksgiving, everyone, everywhere. May you find yourself in good company and high spirits. I know I am.

Thanks!

Maybe It’s Kansas After All

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Back at Roma, belly full, glass full, novel almost to 50K, and the local news is on the television behind the bar. I have a theory. I think every local news broadcast around the world really only needs to be produced once. You have a pair of talking heads, one blonde with a frightening amount of makeup, the other a distinguished-looking gentleman with just a little gray at the temples. The glamor and the stability.

It’s the holiday season, so of course you spend five minutes of the broadcast showing people putting up trees and other decorations. There is the shot of parents hiding the presents, another shot of the kids finding them. Some guy is droning on over the whole thing. Blah, blah, blah. For this spot language matters not at all. You’ve heard the same crap year after year. Finally the tape is over and we find ourselves back in the studio. The blonde turns to the gentleman and says, blah, blah, blah. He chuckles and says back, blah, blah blah. You could use Charlie Brown wah-wah-wah dubbing and then use the same clip the world over. No one would even notice that it was not in their language.

And now, the sports.

Thanks!

Now, there’s someting you don’t see every day

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Dead Rooster on the Landing You don’t have to be assaulted by crowds of little people, accused of manslaughter only to be instantly acquitted because the victim deserved it, then snared into a blood feud with the victim’s sister, to know that you you’re a long way from home. Sometimes the signs are more subtle, but they add up.

Take being locked in the building. Any building manager that would change the locks without warning so that his tenants could not get out in a fire would be arrested in the US. Here, people just shrug and go find the guy to get their new keys. Apparently it’s not that uncommon of a circumstance.

I smell ham right now. Mmmmm… ham. I can smell the ham because my window is open. It’s really quite chilly outside, but it’s nice and toasty in here. In fact, it’s downright hot. There is no temperature control in the apartment. In the true collectivist spirit that reigned when this building was slapped together, everyone freezes or bakes together. I guess the man with his hand on the dial down in the boiler room likes his toes to be toasty.

And speaking of buildings, there’s a dead rooster on the little balcony outside one of the landings.

I have to say, everyone I’ve talked to has been very friendly – or at least they sound friendly. For all I understand all the things they say, they could be cursing at me from behind their friendly smiles. When they discover I don’t know what they’re saying, that doesn’t stop them at all. On they go, discussing the weather or, well, whatever. Once NaNoWriMo is over, hopefully I’ll have more brain to devote to learning czech. The guy at Roma Pizzeria has taken it upon himself to teach me one new czech word each time I go in. Last time it was “Dobrou chut” (bon apetit), which I already knew, but I didn’t know how to tell him I already knew.

Thanks!

Trapped!

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Yesterday while I was at Roma eating pizza, sipping pivo (beer), and doing some writing, they changed the lock to my building. I got back and my key simply didn’t work. There was no sign, nor any warning that it would happen, and no indication what to do about it. It wasn’t just a language thing; there were no signs up at all. I stood outside the building in the light rain, asking myself, what the heck?

I stood in the doorway, flipping through my slovnic (dictionary) trying to figure out how to say “What the heck?” to anyone who happened to open the door. Eventually someone did, but by then I was too tired and frustrated to try to ask him anything. I really should have. Even if he spoke no English I by then knew the words for lock and key, and certainly he had got a new key from somewhere.

I mentioned the incident to another Prague NaNoWriMo participant and she said that she had heard of that happening to three other people. I had planned to be reclusive this month, but this is just crazy. The key is required to either enter or exit the building. (Most buildings are like that as far as I can tell. Imagine an American fire marshall over here.)

The biggest problem of all is that since I buy beer in quantities that fit in my coat pockets, I have no reserve. It never seemed to be an issue; there’s a beer store half a block from the front door. It is filled to bursting with yummy beer. Just down the street from there is a grocery store with even more beer. In between there’s a wine store and a booze store. All of them are on the other side of that door.

This just in: According to an email from Marianna, the building superintendant leaves town on the weekends. I probably puttered around the house too long, and now he’s gone. I will just have to hang by the doors until people pass through this weekend. Next time I leave, I’m coming back with plenty of supplies!

Thanks!

The Slacker Method for Avoiding Jetlag

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Location: pL and Marianna’s place, Prague (map)

Had a great burst of noveling over the weekend, then caught a couple of z’s before rushing out first thing on Monday to pick up my wireless router. A few hours of setting that up was followed with a long, long night of catching up with various organizations, pontificating in the nanowrimo forums (I’m not an expert but I sure can sound like one), and of course, getting things rolling again here at MR&HBI. On top of that, I had my computer hooked up to pL’s stereo system. Sounding good! I resolved to get the plug adapter soon so I could listen to my REAL music collection, which I’ve been lugging around on an external drive for seven months. Well, that distracted me way into the wee hours and then I realized that I had been neglecting my novel, so I spent the rest of the night on that. Then my computer died. About then I realized that I hadn’t eaten in a long time. Or slept.

Some days I wake up early, some days I just don’t go to sleep at all. I think I need to leave the house more. I’m going back to the Roma Pizzeria for some more writing-in-bars action today.

Yesterday, having used physical violence to fix my laptop (mechanical problem called for a mechanical solution) I was up with the sun to go out and get a plug adapter so I could run my external drive and turn it into a backup drive as well as a music collection. I had spotted a store right up the street that seemed promising. I knocked around the apartment for a while, giving the place time to open, and at 8:30 out the door I went.

The place was closed. “No problem,” I thought. “It must open at 9:00.” I enjoy traipsing up and down Vinohradská. It is filled with the little shops that cater to little shopping trips executed by people who have to carry their booty home. More on the automobilization of Prague in another episode. So I went a’wandrin. Lots of shops were still closed, and I started to notice that many of them had hours posted that said they should be open. At first I laughed to myself. “There’s an interesting cultural difference,” I thought. “The keepers of these little shops aren’t so worried about their hours.” It was after nine when I got back to Electra Electro, and it was still closed. I checked the hours on the door; it said it opened at eight. I pulled out my dictionary to make sure I was looking at the right day. Maybe Wednesday is a traditional shop-closing day. Nope.

Then it hit me. Holiday. I had noticed that traffic was relatively light, and everything fell into place. It was a holiday. All the adaptér electricky stores were closed. I started walking down toward the center of town, hoping to find a place down there that catered to tourists and would therefore be open. Vinohradská goes straight down the the top of Václavské námisti (Winceslas square), with a statue of the good king himself (map) gazing down the long, broad street with every sort of shop imaginable crowding in on each side. Except electric adapter stores.

Finally I found a place, a computer and Internet store tucked way back in a not-so-glamorous shopping arcade (map), the kind of place that you could imagine people in Cyberpunk novels go to get contraband chips to put into their heads. I paid way too much for the adapter and back out I went into the threatening rain. The weather threatened and for the first time since being on my own I gave in and took public transportation rather than walk. Standing on the metro, I realized that I still hadn’t eaten more than a snack.

While getting all my technology straightened out, I started reading a book during file copies. I read the book almost straight through, pausing at 03:30 to take a nap. I finished it this morning.

This morning (no, wait, afternoon! It’s hard to tell; the sky has been cloudy almost constantly since I got here) finds me sitting, sipping tea, planning my day. Gotta get out. Gotta get back to the novel. Gotta start using my “Talk Czech Now” CD-ROM. Gotta get a new hard drive for the laptop and get my external working. Gotta start getting to bars.

I think I’ll take a nap.

Thanks!

Tranquility Base Here, The Eagle Has Landed

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The air is brisk today, but when I get walking I keep warm. I cut quite a figure, at least in my own imagination, walking down the street, hair and long coat blowing behind me, scruffy two-level beard (need to get some tools), and purpose in my stride. Apparently 3pm is when pretty girls take their dogs for walks. None of them so much as glanced at me. They must have been intimidated by that ineffable machismo I was exuding.

Or something like that.

Anyway, after one small memory lapse (26, 16, whatever) sent me into a fancy little wine store I found the place I was looking for. I opened the door and walked down a few narrow steps and took a left into the quiet room, found a table, and sat down.

I’m back where I belong.

I’m in a bar, with my laptop, writing. I could get to like this place. Not smoky, not crowded on a weekday afternoon, decent tunes playing, good beer. No danger of me falling in love with the bartender, either—he seems like a nice guy, but, well, he’s a guy. He just brought my pizza, a fine looking pie. He also brought a bottle of Kečup. There’s an American stereotype I had forgotten. The beer is good, the pizza is good.

Life is good.

Thanks!